


I Want a Boy for My Birthday

by flowercrownclem



Category: The Smiths
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marrissey, The Cookies, the magic of vinyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownclem/pseuds/flowercrownclem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes vinyl can cause miracles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me

_The boy was small and warm, hot breath tickling the back of Morrissey's neck, thin arms locked around his waist. There was a strange, fluttering feeling in his stomach, full of contentment and love._

_"You're doing it wrong," came a muffled grumble from behind him, the boy's chest rumbling against his back._

_"What do you mean?" Morrissey smiled, amused._

_"Here, shove over." Morrissey allowed himself to be pushed and pulled around until suddenly a twig-like leg was thrown over his, leaving his boy to straddle his lap._

_"Hey!" he squawked, crossing his arms, "how is this better?"_

_"It isn't- not for tonight, love," the boy grinned, leaning down to peck Morrissey on the nose before rolling onto the opposite side from where he'd been. He looked over his shoulder, smiling sleepily, and grabbed Morrissey's hands, pulling them around to his front. He placed light kisses on his knuckles, wrapping long arms around himself._

_"See?" he asked, burrowing himself deeper in Morrissey's embrace. "S'nice."_

_"Mhmm," Morrissey mumbled in agreement, nosing against the down feather hairs at the back of the boy's neck, smelling cigarette smoke and lemon soap. He closed his eyes, allowing the boy to radiate his usual warmth and tranquility._

_"What's your name?" Morrissey whispered against his neck._

_He heard a small, breathy laugh, as everything faded away._

 

Morrissey woke up with a start. His room was dark and vacant.

"Just a dream," he realized, his eyes wet and his heart empty. He'd had the same one- or versions of the same one- for weeks. They always ended before he could ask the boy his name, but it was always the same boy. Morrissey didn't know what it meant, but each time he woke up he felt more as though he'd been torn away.

He wrapped his arms tightly over his chest, burying his face in his pillow.

He could still smell cigarettes and lemons.

 

The next morning at breakfast Morrissey sat glumly, drinking his tea and eating toast mechanically.

"So, Steven, your birthday is coming up very quickly," his mother reminded him from across the table.

"Yes?" He looked up, waiting for her to continue.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like?" she asked, sipping her tea.

"Not really," Morrissey shrugged, "maybe some records? The Dolls have a new single out."

"Hm, I'll see what I can do," she kissed his cheek as she stood, putting her tea cup in the sink. "Well, I've got to go run some completely everyday errands that have absolutely nothing to do with your birthday," she told him, walking towards the door.

"Okay," he laughed, watching her put on her coat.

"Have a nice day," she told him, opening the door.

"I will. I hope you have a nice time with your everyday errands," he grinned.

She giggled as she closed the door, leaving him alone once more. He cleared his own plate and walked back to his room.

There was only one day until his birthday, when he would be twenty three. To be honest there was only one thing he wanted for his birthday, but it couldn't be picked up at the corner store.

He wanted love.

 

Crouching over his turntable, Morrissey wryly chose a record. As the needle touched the first grooves, the Cookies' "I Want a Boy For My Birthday" filled the room.

Morrissey lay back on his bed, singing along.

 

 _"I want a boy for my birthday_  
 _That's what I've been dreaming of_  
 _I won't have a happy birthday_  
 _Without a boy to love_  
  
_Don't want a bracelet with golden charms_  
 _Cause that won't fill my empty arms_  
 _I want a boy to love_  
  
_I want a boy for my birthday_  
 _That's the present that I need the most_  
 _Just a boy for my birthday_  
 _One who'll love to hold me close_  
 _Doesn't matter if he's short or tall_  
 _Just as long as he gives his all_  
 _I want a boy to love_  
  
_I want a boy who's gonna treat me right_  
 _Hug me, kiss me, squeeze me day and night_  
  
_I want a boy for my birthday_  
 _He doesn't have to be too smart_  
 _Just as long as he loves me_  
 _And keeps me in his heart_  
 _I want a boy to comfort me_  
 _And treat me tenderly_  
 _I want a boy to love"_


	2. Life Could Be a Dream, Sweetheart

_ His boy was curled into his side, fingers ghosting over his ribs, making Morrissey shiver. He cupped the boy's cheek and looked down at him in the rosy early morning light.  _

_ "What's your name?" he asked desperately. _

_ "It's not important," the boy whispered.  _

_ "It is to me." Morrissey sat up, forcing the boy to follow. _

_ "Why?" he asked.  _

_ "Because it isn't real," Morrissey admitted, staring at his hands folded in his lap. "I can't keep this up. I can't keep waking up." _

_ "Fine," the boy muttered, standing up from the bed. "If you don't want me, I'll go." _

_ "Wait! No, please?" Morrissey grasped at the boy's wrist, easily tugging him back. The boy climbed deftly into his lap, crossing his arms behind Morrissey's head.  _

_ "Just tell me what you want," he said, leaning down to bury his face in Morrissey's neck.  _

_ "I need something real," Morrissey pleaded, "I need a name." _

_ The boy took a deep breath, exhaling hotly over the soft skin of Morrissey's neck. _

_ "Then wake up and give me one." _

 

Morrissey's eyes flew open, met with a midnight black room. He sighed, tightening his arms around his boy and closing his eyes again.

His eyes snapped open again, his brow furrowing. This wasn't a dream. 

This wasn't a dream.

Morrissey gracelessly rolled backwards off of his bed, landing hard on the floor.

"Wot're you doing?" came a groggy voice from the bed. A very familiar groggy voice. 

"No. No no no no no no no." Morrissey's heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings, his breath caught in his throat. 

"Moz?" the boy asked softly. "Are you okay?"

"No, I- I mean- you... You're not real." Morrissey fumbled to stand up. "You can't be."

"Of course I can be. I can do however I please."

"No but it's not possible. Things like that don't happen. Things like you don't happen."

"Call it birthday magic," the boy grinned, pulling him to sit beside him by the hand. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Er, thank you," Morrissey said, looking at their joined hands.

"I _am_ real, you know. Flesh and blood," the boy told him proudly.

"That's, uh, good I guess." Morrissey ran his fingers over the boy's arm, testing that he really was solid. 

"I believe there was mention of a name?" the boy asked, expectantly. 

"Well, have you got one?" Morrissey asked. 

"No," the boy's face fell. "You were supposed to give me one."

"Let me think." Morrissey looked around his room, eyes ghosting over books and records. His eyes stopped on one old 60's doo wop single, "Song of the Lonely Guitar," by Johnny Rocker. "How about Johnny?"

"Sure!" the boy- Johnny- chirped.

"Okay, now that that's settled can we go back to sleep? It's too early to be dealing with this."

"Okay," Johnny said, pulling back the blankets for Morrissey to return to the bed. As soon as he had laid down, Johnny nestled himself into his arms. Morrissey froze for a moment, suddenly unsure outside of a dream. Johnny tilted his head back, lips grazing over Morrissey's jaw. 

"Go to sleep," he commanded, pulling Morrissey's arms more tightly around himself. Morrissey closed his eyes, drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

 

When Morrissey woke again to a light room he half-expected his bed to be empty, but Johnny was still there, head rested on his shoulder. Morrissey smiled lazily, lightly dragging his fingers through Johnny's hair to wake the boy up.

"Gumorning," Johnny mumbled, stretching. 

"You're still here," Morrissey noted happily. 

"Of course I am. I'm not going anywhere." Johnny rolled over him to sit at the edge of the bed. "What're we doing now?"

"I guess breakfast?" Morrissey asked, standing. 

Johnny nodded, hopping to his feet. Morrissey noticed that Johnny was dressed in one of his own shirts, hanging close to his knees on the boy's small frame. Morrissey slowly stepped forward, tentatively reaching out his hand. His fingers brushed over the soft, well worn fabric of the t-shirt before slipping around to Johnny's back. 

"Moz?" Johnny asked, quietly. 

"Mhmm?" Morrissey carefully pulled Johnny closer, pressing their chests together. He bent his head forward to nose along Johnny's neck, settling at the point where his neck met his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?" Johnny carded his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Morrissey's head, melting into the tight hug. 

"Yeah. I am," Morrissey told him firmly, holding him as close as he could. 

 

When they went down for breakfast, Johnny was introduced to a smirking Betty Dwyer as "My friend, Johnny." After both boys were fed they returned to Morrissey's room, where Johnny picked up Morrissey's copy of "I Want a Boy For My Birthday," smirking.

"What?" Morrissey asked defensively. 

"Happy birthday," Johnny wrapped his arms around the taller boy's neck, pressing his lips to Morrissey's. 


End file.
